I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. He returned the locket without comment. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation.
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